The Problem with Good Deeds
by Titan5
Summary: When John is captured, beaten, and held in prison, he tries to hang on until he is rescued.


**Summary: **John finds himself captured, beaten, and confined to prison as he tries to hang on long enough to be rescued. This story was written for lauriel01 and her request at the Sheppard H/C Secret Santa. I hope you enjoy and I'm sorry I didn't get finished for Christmas day. Merry Christmas any way!!!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own and have no rights to Stargate Atlantis or its characters. Just doing this for fun!!

**THE PROBLEM WITH GOOD DEEDS**

**By Titan5**

"Well, I still don't understand why we have to try and form some kind of alliance with every backwoods civilization, and I use the term civilization very loosely here, on every planet we visit. I'm getting no energy readings, so as far as I'm concerned, this is a ginormous waste of time."

Sheppard stopped in his tracks on point and turned around to stare at McKay. "Did you just say ginormous?"

McKay shrugged his shoulders and snorted. "Yes, I did. You have a problem with that?"

Sheppard briefly raised his eyebrows a bit and shifted his weight to his right foot. "No, no problem, I was just . . . surprised." He pivoted back around and resumed walking forward as Teyla turned to exchange a look with Ronon.

"I can say ginormous if I want to," McKay said defensively.

"What does this word mean, ginormous? I am unfamiliar with it." said Teyla, falling in step beside McKay.

McKay relaxed a little, his shoulders easing into a more natural position. "You know, gigantic and enormous, something really big." McKay purposely projected his voice forward toward a certain Lt. Colonel. "And this is definitely a _really big_ waste of my time."

Sheppard grinned without turning around. "Your objection has been duly noted, McKay. Now stop whining and give us a break."

McKay opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when a teenage girl with tattered clothes and long, straggly brown hair came running out of the grove of trees just ahead of them. Her face was dirty and she was obviously terrified. Three arrows hit the ground right behind her, narrowly missing her bare legs and feet. The team immediately brought their guns up against whatever threat had the girl fleeing and Sheppard began running towards her.

She stumbled and flew forward to hit the ground hard, crying out in pain at the impact. Sheppard was there, kneeling beside her almost instantly. "Are you all right?" he asked, trying to search for injuries at the same time he was scanning the edge of the trees.

She was panting and crying and could barely talk. "Please . . . help me . . . they're . . . going to kill me."

Five men with what appeared to be cross bows emerged from the trees and scattered to form a line as they slowed their approach. The one in the center was big, almost Ronon's size, and he stepped forward.

"Stranger, we have no quarrel with you, but you must step aside. This girl is a thief and must be taken into custody." Their clothes consisted of roughly sewn tan pants and dark brown jackets, looking like poorly produced uniforms. Their weapons were pointed at the Lanteans while the team's weapons were aimed at the soldiers.

Sheppard looked down at the quivering girl beside him and then back up at the man who seemed to be in charge. "What did she steal? She can't be more than fifteen or sixteen, so surely it wasn't much."

To his surprise, a soft trembling voice answered. "I stole some bread . . . for my little sister. We were starving."

At that, Sheppard saw how truly thin and pale the girl was and anger stirred within him as he stood up to face the big man. "You chased her through the woods shooting at her because she was starving and took some bread?" he asked incredulously.

The men looked offended, their expressions hardening at the questioning of their actions. "It does not matter what she stole; only that she stole. Now move aside and you may be on your way."

Sheppard helped the girl to her feet, mindful of the shiver of fear that passed through her. He nodded to Teyla, who stepped forward and took the girl by the arm while still holding her P90 up with the other hand. As Teyla pulled the girl back a few steps, Sheppard stepped in front of them.

"I don't think so. This girl is obviously half-starved and needs help, not punishment. Now maybe we could go back and talk about this, about maybe getting her and her little sister some food and find out what happened to their parents."

"They're dead!" the girl cried from behind him. "They got sick and we had no money for medicine, so I watched them get sicker and sicker until they died. Then the magistrate threw us out of our house to live on the street. Hayleena is only a child. How could they do that to a child?" The girl dissolved into weeping once again.

Teyla tightened her hold on both the girl and her gun, anger flashing in her eyes as she clenched her jaw. She could not imagine a society so cruel as to throw orphaned children out into the street. Her people always took such children in and provided them with a family and home.

Sheppard's glare turned cold against the cruel men in front of him. "She won't be going with you. We'll provide her with what she needs and she'll be much better off."

"But Hayleena, my sister," the girl wailed.

"Shh, we will see to that later," Teyla whispered, knowing it would be difficult to get out of their current situation unscathed.

"Teyla," said Sheppard, his eyes never leaving the armed men in front of him. "You and Rodney take the girl to the gate. Ronon and I have your six. Go now." He brought his gun up and began stepping back, away from the soldiers. He fired a brief burst at their feet when they brought their crossbows up, letting them know that his firepower was a bit more advanced than theirs. The men jumped around as they backpedaled, fear dislodging the smug looks on their faces.

Sheppard and Ronon slowly backed away, the two sides keeping their weapons aimed at one another while the soldier in charge tried to figure out what to do. They made it to the other side of the field when Sheppard's radio burst to life.

"Colonel, we're dialing the gate," came Rodney's frantic voice. "Get your butts over here."

Sheppard nodded to Ronon. "Let's go." They turned and ran for the gate, hoping the distance between them and the soldiers and the cover of the trees would be enough to protect them. A few minutes later, they came to the small clearing with the gate. Teyla had already taken the girl through and Rodney stood in front of the active wormhole, motioning for them to hurry.

"Go, Rodney!" shouted Sheppard. Ronon was now several feet ahead of him and he briefly turned to look behind as Ronon stepped through the gate. Hot pain suddenly stabbed through his lower right leg and he went down hard, skidding across the grass. Stunned, it took him a moment too long to come back to his senses. As he twisted to bring his gun up, the soldiers were there, kicking the gun out of his hands. Several punches and kicks later, he lost the battle to stay conscious.

On the other side of the wormhole, his teammates stood with Elizabeth and the frightened young girl, watching the stargate shut down. Grim silence filled the gateroom, as they all realized Sheppard had most likely been injured and captured or killed.

"Oh, no," mumbled Rodney, putting voice to everyone's thought.

oOo

Sheppard sucked in a shuddering breath as cold water splashed over him, soaking him and leaving him gasping. The sudden movement woke pain in his ribs, back, and stomach, making him remember the beating he had taken.

"Get up!"

The deep, gruff voice had Sheppard working overtime to get his eyes open and focused. When the finally did, he discovered himself lying on the ground in the center of a village of stone buildings. He was surrounded by people on all sides, with those closest to him being soldiers in the brown uniforms. While he had been unconscious, someone had removed his shirt and shoes, making him feel naked and vulnerable.

"I said get up!" This time he identified a short, well-dressed man as the source of the voice. The soldiers moved closer, with one kicking him in the hip to hurry him along.

Sheppard grunted as he rolled away from the man, sending a flash of hot pain through his right leg. He looked down to find his pants leg soaked with blood. He could only guess he'd been struck by an arrow that they had subsequently pulled out. He began trying to get to his feet in order to avoid being kicked again. Once upright, he leaned heavily on his left leg, fighting the dizziness and nausea that assaulted him due to his new vertical position.

"All right . . . I'm up. What's next?"

The small man regarded him with dark, beady eyes. He had thin, brown hair and a severely receded hairline. "I am Magistrate Falin. Who are you?"

Sheppard took a deep breath and licked his dry lips. "Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. Look, we just – "

Falin didn't seem interested in anything Sheppard had to say. "You helped a thief escape punishment. By our laws, you will therefore take her punishment, along with the punishment for your own crime. You will be given thirty stripes and six years imprisonment in the lower levels."

Sheppard swallowed hard, just now beginning to realize how much trouble he was in. "That seems kind of harsh for stealing a loaf of bread. Are you sure we can't work something out? We came here looking for trading partners and allies against the – "

The blow from the side caught him completely off-guard, knocking him to the ground and making his already aching head spin. He was only partially aware as metal shackles were secured around his wrists and then fastened to a huge metal ring attached to a chain. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled up by his arms until they were stretched out over his head and his feet barely touched the ground. The pain in his bruised ribs was excruciating, making it hard to draw in a breath, and his shoulders felt like they would dislocate any minute.

The soldiers backed away, grinning to expose their yellowed, crooked teeth. He twisted, trying to look back over his shoulder, but wasn't comforted by what he saw. The large man he had encountered in the field was snapping a whip with three long leather straps, looking like he was about to enjoy himself.

"John Sheppard has been condemned for his crimes against this office and the people of Torresville. Let his punishment serve as a warning to any who would aid criminals in their escape. You may begin."

Almost immediately the whip struck, leaving three bloody, raw trails down his back. Sheppard almost bit through his lip as he stifled the cry of pain. The next strike took his breath away and the third came too quickly for him to recover. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prepare for the bite of the straps even though he knew that was impossible. A few stripes later and his legs gave way, shifting the pain to his shoulders for a moment until the whip struck again, licking fire across his right side. A fog settled around him, punctuated only by the sheer agony of having the thin leather straps tear his already raw skin. He reached the point where his only thought was to please let it be over.

He jolted back to awareness as his body crashed into the ground, followed once again by the shock of a bucket of cold water. Strong, rough hands grabbed him by his protesting arms and pulled him to his feet. They held him strong as his legs gave way beneath him. When his vision cleared, the magistrate was practically standing on tip toes to get in his face.

"How do you feel about helping the thief escape now, Colonel Sheppard?" he sneered.

Sheppard pulled together his remaining strength to force himself as upright as possible. "I'm good with my decision. How do you feel about having your men hunt down a half-starved, defenseless girl because she took a little food? I'm sure the people are proud to see you defending them against dangerous criminals."

Sheppard thought it was odd that he heard more than felt the hit to the side of his head just before the lights went out.

oOo

"Wake up, thief."

The booted nudge to his bruised ribcage brought Sheppard suddenly back to the land of the conscious. For a moment he didn't move other than to try opening his eyes. Every inch of him hurt. Between the arrow to the leg, the beating, and the whipping, he was pretty sure the only things that could top this level of pain had been the iratus bug and being fed on by the Wraith. He blinked several times to clear his vision, realizing he could probably add in a concussion to his list of ailments.

"'Bout time," said the skinny, ragged man before him. "I can't leave til I get you awake and tell you what's what. They beat you up pretty bad, didn't they?" The man stood hunched over and had a straggly beard and stringy white hair.

Sheppard was leaned up against a cold, stone wall. His wrists were shackled together, connected with a one foot length of chain. His ankles were also shackled together in similar fashion, obviously designed to make it hard to walk. The cell was dark, about ten by ten, with three sets of bars and the one wall of stone. Hay littered the floor, with Sheppard sitting on the thickest patch, probably designed to serve as a bed since there was no sign of one. An old, stained bucket sat in the corner and Sheppard had a pretty good idea what that was for.

As he moved his left leg, he noticed a distinct pull and looked down to discover he was attached to a bolt in the center of the floor by a five foot chain connected to his left leg manacle. He was really starting to hate this place. He looked back up at the old man. "Who are you?"

"I am Rama and I have been assigned as your caretaker. I bandaged your leg as good as I could and they gave me a bit of herb paste for your back. Your relief bucket is over in the corner. You'll be brought food and water twice a day, but they'll withhold it if you don't do what they say. Someone will be in at dark to chain you to the wall. There's less guards at night, so they don't want you able to move around. If I was you, I'd use that bucket when it starts getting late, cause they don't hurry to let you out in the morning. If you mess your straw, they won't give you new."

Sheppard stared at the man incredulously. He was pretty sure most animals were treated better than this. He had a moment of panic when thought about spending six years in these conditions until he convinced himself that his team would never let that happen. They would come back for him. He might have to wait a few days because he was sure Elizabeth would try to negotiate first, but in the end, they wouldn't leave him.

"How long are you in for?"

Sheppard's attention was drawn back to the man. "Six years."

The man snorted. "Well, no one lasts that long. No one. Sorry for your misfortune, mister, but you'll die here. They always do."

Sheppard watched in silence as the man called for the guard, who complained loudly as he came around the corner to let the man out. Sheppard looked around, noticing that there were three cells in the stone-walled dungeon and he was in the middle. The other two were unoccupied. He heard someone wailing pitifully down the corridor, so he assumed there were other rooms such as this one. They probably wanted to isolate him as extra punishment for his deeds. Arching his skinless back away from the rough stone, he shifted so that he was leaning more on his arm, wincing at the many fireballs of pain the movement sent up. He guessed the old adage was true – no good deed goes unpunished.

oOo

Sheppard drifted in and out the rest of the day, his body a mass of endless pain. He was never really able to actually sleep, just dozed in fits and then jerked awake from some pain making itself known. He had no idea what time it was because he was obviously underground, but he knew it had to be getting late and he remembered what the man had told him. Using the wall as leverage, he spent several minutes slowly dragging himself to his feet so he could shuffle over to the bucket and relieve himself. He decided while he was up, he'd better stretch his legs out since he wouldn't be doing much moving around at night. He hadn't been at it long when a guard returned with the old man from earlier, carrying a bowl and cup.

"Sit down against the wall, thief," ordered the man in uniform, his weapon trained on Sheppard. The colonel wanted to laugh at the thought of anyone considering him a threat in his current condition. He ambled over to the wall and lowered himself to the ground, grimacing with the newfound agony he had created. He sat with his head leaned back against the wall panting for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes, the man had set the cup and bowl down in front of him and backed away.

"You have ten minutes and I'll be back to lock you up for the night," said the guard as he let the man out.

Sheppard looked down at the bowl. The contents reminded him of watery grits and there was no spoon. He scooped up a small bite with his fingers, easing it tentatively into his mouth. It came spewing right back out, the taste reactivating his nausea to the point he had to scrabble painfully over to the bucket to heave. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled back to his seat. Drinking the cup of stale tasting water did little to help kill the foul taste in his mouth.

Two guards returned in a few minutes along with the old man. One guard kept his weapon trained on him while the old man removed the cup, bowl, and bucket. The second guard came over carefully, watching Sheppard all the while. He unlatched the shackles around Sheppard's wrist, after which the prisoner rubbed his chafed skin.

"Thanks."

The guard laughed and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "Don't thank me yet, thief." He roughly grabbed Sheppard's right arm and attached another shackle that was anchored to the wall behind and slightly above him. He repeated the action with Sheppard's left arm, so that his arms were secured to the wall in such a way that he couldn't even rest them in his lap. When relaxed, his arms hung so that his elbows were bent and his hands were a good six inches above his legs.

"Well, that sucks," commented Sheppard.

"Doesn't it just?" said the guard sarcastically as he unhooked the left leg manacle from the chain. He then attached each leg to a bolt in the floor so that Sheppard could neither lie down nor stand up. He was pretty much confined to sitting in this same position the entire night. The guard stood and looked down, admiring his handiwork. "So, Sheppard, what do you think now? Looking forward to six years of this, because I am?"

Sheppard narrowed his eyes and glared at the guard, trying to repress the shivers beginning as the cold set in. "I think I might enjoy killing you," he said quietly.

"Yeah, right. Say that again after a few months of this. You'll be begging us to kill you. Imagine, Sheppard. You'll probably be chained to the floor or the wall just about every minute of the rest of your short life. Average life expectancy in the lower levels is less than a year."

The two guards laughed as they locked the door and left. The old man looked at him sadly through the bars and shook his head before following them out the door. Sheppard pulled at the shackles for a few minutes, making sure they were as secure as they looked. Unfortunately for him, they were. He desperately tried not to think about how screwed he was.

oOo

Four days later, Sheppard knew he was in trouble. He'd been able to keep going because he told himself every day that this was the day his team would come for him, but so far there had been no sign of them. He'd quickly figured out that the only way to get sleep was to lie down during the day when the range of motion was greater. He spent the nights with his raw back forced up against the cold, rough stone, trying to stay tense enough that he minimized the contact.

Rama had been allowed to change the bandage on his leg only twice and he could see it was infected. Blood and pus stained the filthy bandage. Rama had been allowed to put the herbal paste on his back only twice, so he figured it might be infected as well. Between the fevers that now burned in him and the fact that he was half dressed in a cold, damp dungeon, his temperature control was constantly messed up. If he wasn't sweating, he was shivering and he could barely sit up.

When Rama came with the guards to bring him the evening meal, he was lying on the straw pallet against the wall, staring listlessly straight ahead. Rama kneeled beside him, placing the bowl and cup of water in front of him.

"You must eat and drink, colonel."

Sheppard let his eyes move to meet those of the old man. "Not hungry." Mostly he was just too tired and sore to sit up. He knew he was burning up with fever and needed the water, but he just couldn't seem to make himself care enough to put forth the effort. The old man leaned forward as he whispered.

"You must drink your water. I have put something in it for the fever, but you must drink all of it."

John looked up at the man, who patted his head and smiled. "You have ten minutes." He got up and shuffled out of the cell under the watchful eyes of the guards. When they left the room, Sheppard got one hand underneath him and pushed himself up so he could drink the cup of water.

When they returned a few minutes later, the old man nodded upon seeing the empty cup. As soon as he left the cell with the cup and bowl, the two guards drug Sheppard over to sit him against the wall where they could shackle him for the night. One of the guards was new and much younger than the other man. He stood looking down at Sheppard as the second guard left the cell.

"Hey, he feels pretty hot. I think maybe his wound is infected. Should we get that old man to change the bandage, maybe get him some medicine or something?"

The older man turned and sighed, tilting his head slightly. "Why? He's going to die down here anyway. What difference does it make if it's now or later? Just leave him. You have a lot to learn, boy." He turned and walked out of the cell and then to the door of the room. "Don't make me come back in here after you!" he said angrily as he stalked out the door.

Sheppard watched the young guard back up a step. The blonde headed boy looked like he was barely eighteen, if that old. "It's okay," John said softly. "Thanks for trying." The look of guilt on the boy's face just escalated and he almost fell as he quickly turned and slammed the cell door closed. John let his eyes close as his head leaned back against the cold wall and he began to shiver.

oOo

One week after his capture, Sheppard sat waiting for the guards to move him to the chain in the center of his cell. He was still running a fever, but it had gotten markedly better after drinking a couple of doses of whatever Rama had put in his water. The old man had changed the bandage again last night and commented that the wound looked better, beginning to heal instead of constantly weeping blood and fluids. He just wished he could feel warm again. He was cold all day and shivered most of the night. If the guards were in a good mood, maybe he could talk them into a shirt or something for his feet.

The cell was always dark, with only a small torch lit at one end of the room during the day. They put it out at night, making it so dark that the doorway was the only thing Sheppard could see. A small amount of light in the hallway kept that illuminated. The lack of someone to interact with was the worst though. He saw the guards and Rama twice a day for a few minutes, and the rest of the time he was alone. Screaming and mad laughter occasionally drifted in from the corridor, but other than that, it was always quiet. He'd tried talking to himself, but the guard had stepped in and told him if he wasn't quiet, he'd chain him to the wall and gag him. So Sheppard alternately paced with small steps or slept to pass the day and fought demons in the dark at night.

The sound of clanging meant the guards were on their way. Surprise filled him at the sight of the Magistrate entering the room with the guards and Rama. Once the door to his cell was open, the garishly dressed man strutted in and stood looking down at Sheppard.

"I've been talking with your people, someone named Dr. Weir. She seems to want you back, but not enough to return the girl to us."

John smiled a little. Elizabeth was still trying to negotiate. "She won't trade. Our people don't believe in trading human lives. I'm sure she offered you something else of value."

The magistrate grunted and tossed his head. "Useless things. I must maintain order, and to do so, I cannot let criminals get away." He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the prisoner. "Tell me more about where you came from, about what you have to offer."

John stared up at the man for a few seconds. "What did she offer you?"

The magistrate's face reddened. "You do not ask the questions, I do! You will tell me of your world and what your people can offer for your return."

John rubbed the side of his head. "I think that bump to the head I had earlier and the fever have really messed me up, I can't seem to remember much. You'll have to ask Dr. Weir for whatever information you want."

A small smile began to play across the man's lips. "So, you want to play games, colonel. I can play and I play hard." He turned to the older guard. "Hold his morning meal. He is only to receive the evening meal until I command differently." The magistrate grinned as he looked back to John. "Let's see if hunger encourages you to loosen your tongue."

John watched sullenly as the man left, trying to hold his tongue from commenting on not missing the pig swill he'd been served for food. In reality, he would miss it. While it tasted foul, it eased the ache of emptiness in his stomach for a while. The old man stepped forward to give him the cup of water, which he drank. John watched forlornly as he left with the bowl of uneaten food still in his hand.

oOo

It was another three days before John saw Magistrate Falin again. He came in the evening, once again arriving with Rama and the guards. Stepping into the cell, he glared angrily down at John.

"How do you feel about talking now?"

John looked weakly up at the pudgy man. "Same as I did three days ago, how about you?"

Falin snorted. "That's too bad. I have ended negotiations with your people. It is a waste of my time and resources and they anger me."

John glared defiantly. "They will come for me and you'll wish you had just given me over to them."

Falin laughed, a miserable sound that echoed in the cold, damp air. "I told them you had been executed. When they demanded your body, I told them we had burned it. Your Dr. Weir was very upset. There will be no rescue and I tire of you." He turned to leave, but stopped by the door. "Secure him to the wall and leave him and he is to have no food. You may give him a little water if you wish to prolong his suffering, but nothing else."

Rama's mouth dropped open and he turned quickly to Falin. "Sir, Magistrate, surely he may be let loose each day to relieve himself."

Falin grinned and licked his fat lips. "No, let him lie in his own filth to die. It is a fitting end to a betrayer such as this. If I find out my orders were not carried out, you will be killed."

John watched as the old man slowly turned and shuffled over to him. "I am sorry, colonel. This is not right for man or beast." He handed John his cup of water.

"It's okay, Rama, not your fault. And my people will still come. Falin refusing to provide a body will make them wonder if I'm still alive."

The young guard stepped forward to move Sheppard to the shackles on the wall. "You are sure of this? That your people will come for you?"

John nodded. "I'm sure."

oOo

Two weeks after his capture, John was so weak he could barely hold his head up. The gnawing pain in his stomach had finally faded and he was pretty sure that wasn't a good sign. He could barely feel his arms and hands any more and every movement he tried to make was agony on his legs and butt. He had gotten used to the smell of his own stench, a mixture of sweat, blood, and urine, but not the feel of it. He was ready for death. Something had obviously gone wrong. Too many soldiers or problems with the gate. He had no idea, but he knew they should have come for him.

The sound of clanging metal had him watching the door for the guards and Rama, who still brought him water twice a day. He had considered not drinking it and ending the misery just a little faster, but he found as long as there was hope, he couldn't completely give up. Rodney had a way of finding last minute answers. They could still come. He looked up to find only the old man and the young guard entered the room.

Opening his mouth to ask about the other guard, he got caught up in a coughing fit instead. His fever had risen steadily the last few days and this time it brought congestion with it. He could hear the wheeze in his chest as he worked for each breath. He'd stopped shivering and been hot for a day or two, but it had given way to the chills this morning and now his teeth were chattering from the cold.

When he finally caught his breath again and opened his tearing eyes, he found both men kneeled beside him, worried looks on their faces. The young soldier put his hand to Sheppard's forehead.

"Oh, man, he's burning up."

The old man nodded. "As I told you. He is very ill. He will die soon if he does not get help."

The young boy frowned, obviously not knowing what to do. "Where are your people? You said they would come."

Sheppard's eyes rolled around a bit as he clung to consciousness. "Must have had a problem. They'll come."

The boy looked doubtful. "Colonel Sheppard . . . I don't want you to think this is what my people are like. The Magistrate, he is a cruel and selfish man. He has some soldiers and a few of the rich that support him, but the rest of the village does not. But they are poor and have nothing and they are afraid of him. I truly believe if we could get rid of him, we could do better for most of our people." The boy hesitated and studied Sheppard, as if working up his nerve. "If your people come . . . would they help us? There are many of us who would rise up against the Magistrate if we had some help."

Sheppard was impressed by the boy's request. He was very young to be looking for ways to help his people with such actions. "I can't make any promises. A lot will depend on how many come and the resistance they meet. I can promise to consider it, but that's all."

The boy smiled and nodded. "That is more than we deserve. I would like to unshackle your arms, but if it were discovered, we would both be put to death."

"No, that's okay. I don't want to get you in trouble. Just . . . keep watch for my people if you will. If they come, surrender immediately and show them where I am. I'll make sure your request is considered. Even if we can't get rid of the Magistrate, maybe you two could come back with me."

The boy shook his head. "No, I will not leave my people. If you are unable to help, then I must look for another way."

"Okay, I understand. Hey, what's your name?"

"I am Nahar. I must go now, before I am missed. I hope your people come soon."

Sheppard watched as the two men left, his head lolling to one side. "Me too," he whispered.

oOo

It was over twenty four hours later when Sheppard heard the ground rumble. Dust and debris rained down on his barely conscious form as the ground shook. A few minutes later, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps, followed by several people rushing into the room. He fought to raise his head and see what was going on, his beard brushing roughly against the bare skin of his shoulder.

"Rama?" he wheezed before coughing for several seconds. When the bout subsided, he looked up into the shocked faces of his team with Nahar standing nervously to one side, Ronon's gun pointed at the boy's chest. He was literally speechless. He had wanted them to come for so long and had tried to maintain the belief that they would make it before he died, but it had gotten hard. Teyla moved forward and knelt beside him, gently touching the side of his face. The only sound for a few moments was that of his labored breathing.

"John, it is all right now. We will take you home." Teyla turned to Ronon. "Let him unlock the bonds so that we may take John home. He is very ill."

Ronon motioned toward John, and Nahar squatted on the opposite side of Sheppard from Teyla. As soon as the first shackle was unlocked and John's arm dropped to his lap, he yelped in pain. Fire pierced his shoulder and ran down his arm at the sudden motion. Sheppard faded out for a moment, but was aware when the other arm was unlocked. This time someone supported his arm and lowered it gently. It was still painful, but it didn't take his breath away like the other had.

Sheppard coughed and struggled for air, realizing he had fallen over. Hands helped him sit back up as his legs were unhooked. When he was upright again, he got his eyes back open in time to see Lorne enter his cell.

"Sir, it's good to finally see you again. Sorry it took so long to get here, we, uh, had a few problems."

"It's okay. Nahar wants some help . . . ridding his village of the Magistrate. I'm not sure what your situation is . . . or if we're in a position to help, but I told him we'd consider it. I'm not really . . . " Sheppard had to stop for a coughing fit before he could continue. When he finally stopped, he could see the worry in everyone's face. "I'm leaving the decision up to you."

Rodney turned to Lorne. "Look, you and this kid can figure out what to do about this Magistrate guy, but we need to get Sheppard out of here while he's still alive for Carson to make better."

Lorne nodded to Ronon. "Why don't you get the colonel and I'll talk to Nahar. Beckett's waiting on Jumper One."

Ronon eyed the boy, but finally grunted in agreement and picked Sheppard up. He heard the colonel gasp, making him wish he'd moved more slowly. "Sorry, Sheppard."

"It's okay," Sheppard whispered. His eyes closed as he began allowing himself to give in to the exhaustion and weakness. The sights and sounds around him slowly faded away.

oOo

Carson stood at the edge of the waiting area, preparing himself for the explanations he would have to give. His stomach was clenched in anger at the treatment Sheppard had received and every time he thought about it, he had to resist the temptation to throw something against the wall. He stepped toward the waiting group of people and took a deep breath.

"Let's sit down, this could take a minute," he said. He watched as Ronon, Teyla, Rodney, and Elizabeth took a seat and then he pulled one up for himself. "First of all, I don't know who is responsible for the colonel's condition, but they should be . . . I don't know what should be done, but something bad. His older injuries include some kind of a leg wound, a rather sound whipping with some kind of strap, and a beating that included a couple of cracked ribs and a head injury. It looks like his leg was infected and possibly some of the wounds on his back. Since he didn't receive proper care, there is going to be extensive scarring."

"From what we can tell, Magistrate Falin is the primary one responsible for what happened to John and Major Lorne is helping some of the people deal with him now," said Elizabeth.

"Well, maybe they should toss him in his own prison. The colonel is malnourished, or more accurately half-starved, and dehydrated. He's been bound around the wrists and ankles for an extended period of time, resulting in serious soft tissue damage in both places. He's also got some nasty pressure ulcers, made worse by the fact that he's been made to lay in his own waste. Between the damp conditions and the poor nutrition, he's fighting a rather bad infection that has now turned into pneumonia. I'm a bit worried by how high his fever is and how weak he is. I've started him on some strong, broad spectrum antibiotics for the moment."

"At least he is home and safe now," said Teyla. "The place they kept him was very cold and damp and very dark."

"Most farm animals are treated better," said Rodney.

"Will he be all right?" asked Elizabeth.

Carson sighed and looked at the floor. "I think he will, if we can fight off this infection. It will take some time though."

"The guard said he's been chained up since they got him, that's two weeks. At least as a runner, I got the chance to run for my life." Ronon scowled at no one in particular, just angry at what had been done to his friend.

"Aye, we'll need to be there for the colonel. He might be feeling abandoned again, as well. I know you're wanting to see him, but it's going to take us a while to get him properly cleaned and settled. Why don't you get some rest and come back in the morning. We should have him sorted out by then." Carson stood, his way of indicating it was time for them to leave. They tried to argue, but Carson stood firm and finally succeeded in shooing them away. Then he returned to help with Sheppard, wanting to personally make sure everything possible was done for the sick man.

oOo

John drifted in and out, never sure what was real and what was imagined. He was in the prison, then he was in Atlantis. He was shackled and then free and then shackled again. He was hot and then he was cold. Enemy faces peered at him, but then he heard the voices of friends. The only thread of continuity was the thrumming pain throughout his body and the struggle to breath through the smothering weight on his chest. It was almost like trying to breathe under water and, although his brains were mush right now, he was pretty sure he didn't have gills.

"Colonel, can you hear me?"

He wanted to smile. The lilting accent could only mean he was home. That meant no shackles, no hay, no peeing in a bucket, no numb hands. It meant food and water and blankets and clothes . . . well, scrubs. It meant no more sitting in the dark alone all day and all night, with only a few minutes of company twice a day. If you could call the guards and Rama company.

"Colonel, I need you to open your eyes a minute."

Sheppard fought for several seconds to comply, finally managing to open his eyes a slit and watching as the Scottish doctor swam into view. "Hey," he scratched out.

For that, he got a big grin from Carson, even though he was pretty sure the oxygen mask currently strapped to his face had completely muffled the pathetic sound. Carson pulled the oxygen mask down and brought a cup and straw up to Sheppard's lips. Sheppard began sucking down the water, but the doctor quickly pulled the water away.

"Sorry, colonel, that's all for now." If it hadn't taken so much energy, Sheppard would have protested. As it was, he swallowed a few times to stifle the coughing fit he felt coming on as Carson replaced the mask. He blinked a few times, the rest of the infirmary slowly coming into focus.

He was propped up on pillows, no doubt in an effort to help him breathe. Looking past the IV lines, he saw his team standing on the other side of the bed, concern filling their faces. Unable to speak without making himself cough, he managed to lift his fingers in a small wave.

Teyla smiled and reached down to take his hand. "John, we are so glad to have you back."

"Amen to that," said Elizabeth, standing beside Carson. "If you were trying to scare me, you succeeded. When the magistrate said they had executed you . . . " She took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "Well, I'm just glad you're home now."

"You know, colonel, there are easier ways to be the center of attention," said Rodney, grinning down at the prone man. "I'm just glad we got you out of there when we did. Far too much trouble to break in someone new. Besides, who'd keep Ronon in check?"

Ronon grunted loudly, glaring at McKay. "The real question is, how could they find someone else who wouldn't just shoot you?"

"All right everyone," scolded Carson lightly. "Now that you've seen him, I need everyone to leave so that the colonel can get some rest. He's still very ill and very weak."

"No," Sheppard croaked from under the mask. He gripped Teyla's hand with all his strength. He was suddenly terrified of being left alone again. "Stay . . . please."

Carson looked down at Sheppard, a frown creasing his brow. "Colonel, you really need the rest."

Sheppard shook his head so slightly as to barely be noticeable. "Don't . . . want . . . be . . . alone . . . again," he gasped, beginning to struggle to sit up.

Carson placed his hand on the colonel's chest, holding him down. "Take it easy, colonel. I suppose one of them could stay with you, if that would make you feel better."

"Team," John whispered.

Carson looked at the group surrounding the bed and looking at him expectantly.

"We will just sit with him and ease his mind that he has not been abandoned," said Teyla. "He was left alone almost constantly in a dark, cold place for the last two weeks. He needs to hear and feel his friends around him. He needs our strength."

Carson sighed and nodded. "All right, you can stay. But try to let him get some rest. He's still very ill and he's got a long way to go." The doctor looked down at Sheppard and noticed his expression relaxing. "If you get too excited with all this company, I'll have to make them leave, colonel."

John gave a single, small nod. "Thanks," he said softly under the mask. He couldn't explain the need to see and hear his team. He hadn't really been tortured, not like other times when he' been held captive. Something about being alone in the dark and the quiet all that time had unnerved him more than he'd been aware.

Carson patted his arm. "Good to have you home, colonel. Bloody good."

John relaxed into the sounds of his team settling in around him. Their movements were quiet, their voices whispered. But it felt like home and John drifted off before he was even aware it was coming.

oOo

John let the spoon drop into the empty bowl with a clink, smacking his lips in contentment. It was amazing how a small bowl of soup and a piece of toast could fill him so completely. He had been allowed to eat three meals now and the soup was getting thicker and more satisfying each time. Surely he was close to at least eating something mushy like mashed potatoes.

His ribs stuck out in a rather disturbing fashion, but Carson had been happy with the recent return of his appetite. The first couple of attempts at eating had been dismal failures, but the last few meals had been a raging success. It didn't take much to fill him at this point, but a few hours later he was hungry again. Carson was always delighted, so as soon as he said food, a tray appeared. He sighed and laced his hands together behind his head, thinking that may be the one highlight of being confined to the infirmary. Looking forlornly at the remaining IV in his hand, he allowed that there were still definite disadvantages.

Carson approached his bed, appreciative smile in place. "Well, colonel, I see you were hungry."

John nodded. "Yep, doc, I was. Feel pretty good now, though." He patted his flat stomach, now comfortably full.

Carson nodded and rolled the table away from the bed, checking John's pulse while the nurse that had accompanied him checked his temperature.

"Down to 100.5, doctor."

Carson nodded and looked even more pleased. "You're doing very well, colonel. How's the headache?"

"Not bad today." He watched as Carson got out his stethoscope and then followed the doctor's directions as he checked his lungs.

"Better, colonel, but still not clear."

John grimaced. "Can I lose the nasal cannula?"

Carson studied him for a moment and then shook his head. "Not yet, colonel. Maybe tomorrow. You've still got a lot of congestion and you're still pretty weak."

John frowned. "Okay, can't blame a guy for trying."

"Cheer up, colonel. Just one more day. And you are doing remarkably well in your recovery. Oh, and you have a visitor if you feel up to it."

John looked up at Carson. "Visitor? Who?"

They looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps to see a young teenage girl approaching. She looked familiar, but it took Sheppard a few moments to place her. As she came to stand beside his bed, it hit him. "The girl from the planet?"

Carson nodded. "Aye. I'll leave you two to visit for a bit." Carson picked up the empty tray and left and Sheppard turned back to the girl.

"I hardly recognized you, you look so different." He was amazed at the effects of a good bathing and some clean clothes. It made him wonder how bad he'd looked when they found him.

The girl smiled and nodded. "I am Marissa. I wanted to thank you for saving me and . . . " She looked down at the floor, stumbling over her words. "I also wanted to say I'm sorry for causing you suffering. You are very brave to stand up to the guards."

Sheppard smiled and patted the girl's arm. "I'm just glad we could help. Major Lorne tells me they've put the magistrate and his buddies in prison and elected a counsel to run the village."

Marissa grinned and nodded. "Yes, that is why I needed to see you today. I will be returning to my planet later this afternoon. A family has offered to take my sister and I in and give us a home. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Just take care of yourself and your sister."

The girl smiled shyly. "That doesn't seem like much."

Sheppard laughed. "I don't know, it sounds like a lot to me. I just don't like to see people beaten down and trampled on, you know? It's kind of thing with me, I guess. I protect people, that's what I do. Anyway, I think your sister is lucky to have you, so just take care of her."

Marissa nodded earnestly. "I will Colonel Sheppard, I will. And thank you again, not just for me and my sister, but for all of my people."

"You're welcome."

She hesitated a minute before leaning and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Her face flushed as she quickly turned and hurried from the room. Sheppard rubbed the side of his face and smiled, grateful that McKay hadn't been around to see it.

oOo

Sheppard grunted in disgust and threw the covers back, thinking the lights up as he crawled out of bed. It was no use. It was too dark and too quiet and there was no way he was going to sleep. The last hour of nervous tossing had proven that. He'd been released from the infirmary that afternoon and his team had left almost two hours ago, telling him he needed to rest. He'd tried. But he hadn't been that alone since returning to Atlantis and just wasn't ready for it yet. He would be eventually, but not yet.

The first few days after he's awakened and asked for his team to stay, he'd never been without at least one of them. He'd been feverish and had to struggle just to breathe, drifting in and out of awareness, but always knowing he wasn't alone. Sometimes they talked to him, whether he was awake or not, sometimes they just sat with him, one hand always on his arm or leg, reassuring him they had not left. They usually gathered there at mealtime, eating as a team while they watched over their leader. The knowledge had given Sheppard the comfort he needed to sleep and heal.

As his strength returned and he was able to sit up and eat, they would take turns dropping in on him during the day, confident that even when one of them was not around, the infirmary staff was there watching over him. But at night, someone from his team was always there, keeping him company and making sure he was never alone. Elizabeth even took a couple of nights to stay with him. He told them they didn't have to, but they could see through the false bravado, that he still needed them. And so they came.

But he was back in his own quarters now. He was still thin and tired easily, but the infection had cleared up and he was eating well enough. He chuckled as he recalled Rodney telling him he'd never seen anyone savor soup like Sheppard had during those first few meals. The colonel informed him that he'd savor every bite too if he had been practically starved to death. Rodney had looked embarrassed and an uncomfortable silence had followed, so Sheppard tried not to joke about what had happened any more. He knew they felt guilty at taking so long to rescue him, even though he'd assured them he'd been fine.

Standing in the middle of his room, hating the silence, he finally put on his shoes and left, not sure of where he was going. It wasn't really that late, so he headed for the control room, thinking Elizabeth might still be in her office. He arrived to find it dark and empty and stood staring wishfully at the vacant chair until the night staff looked at him oddly. Giving a sheepish smile and a small wave, he set off for Rodney's lab. He was surprised to find it equally abandoned. Scratching his head in wonder, he tried to think of where the man would be. He had been sure he'd find the scientist making up lost work time, grumbling about Sheppard being so needy lately.

The mess hall. Grinning, Sheppard walked quickly to the mess hall, almost frantic to find someone to talk to, someone to give him company so he wouldn't feel so completely alone. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to calm down as he entered the large room and scanned it for someone he knew. Disappointment settled heavily as he realized it was just a handful of soldiers and a couple of scientists, none of which he knew well enough to intrude on. The void inside him was becoming cavernous and unbearable. Letting his head sag, he shuffled out of the room and into the hall. He wandered for a while, even considering going back to the infirmary just to see if Carson was there so he'd have someone to talk to. Sheppard stopped in the hall and shook his head. This was just too pathetic and he was so tired he could barely stand. Realizing he was near the rec room, he settled on going there to watch a movie. At least it wouldn't be dark and quiet.

He heard voices as he approached and quickly realized he recognized them. Stepping into the room, Sheppard stopped and stared. Teyla and Elizabeth sat at opposite ends of the couch, stopping their conversation when they saw him. Ronon was laid back on some pillows in the floor between the couch and the chair Rodney was sitting in. Rodney motioned him to come in.

"Well, finally, what took you so long? I thought I was going to have to come get you. Get in here so we can start the movie already."

Elizabeth patted the empty seat between her and Teyla. "Come over here, we saved you a good seat."

Speechless, Sheppard just walked over to the couch and settled in between the two women. "Did I know about this?" He was beginning to wonder if his mind had gone on vacation when a movie night was set up.

Teyla smiled as she spread a blanket over him. "No, but after we left, we decided that you would probably not want to be alone yet. This seemed like a good place to come, where we could all be together tonight."

Rodney held up a bowl. "And we even have popcorn."

Sheppard smiled, the surge of emotions overwhelming him where he was afraid to speak. He just nodded and reached for the popcorn bowl. He was a little surprised that his team could still catch him off guard, reading him better than he read himself sometimes. As the movie started, Teyla and Elizabeth both snuggled in close to him and his heart swelled at the warmth, and not just the physical warmth, of the contact. He was home and he knew without doubt, that no matter where he went or what he did, he would never really be alone.

THE END


End file.
